


Best Laid Plans

by jdmcool



Series: Political Masterminds [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Thick of It (UK)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-16
Updated: 2012-09-16
Packaged: 2017-11-14 09:22:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/513729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jdmcool/pseuds/jdmcool
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mycroft pops around to see the Opposition and Malcolm.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Best Laid Plans

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place after Politics & Foreplay. Minor spoilers for episode 4.2, although nothing major.

Certainly if ever there was any sort of mundane hell on Earth, it would be the space in which the Opposition secluded themselves away, always quietly planning just how it was they would get their power yet again. It rather put Mycroft in the mind of Lord of the Rings even though he could never figure out just which of the wandering politicians would be best fit lurking in a corner muttering about their precious.

Eyes falling on Ollie, Mycroft snickered to himself before going over to where the man seemed to be discussing something with Swain and one of the many faces he didn’t have to remember back when Malcolm had his own office. Although, the fact that Mycroft was certain he genuinely didn’t know her could’ve easily have been because he rarely actually popped in on the Opposition. Even when he was after Malcolm. One of the joys of his job meant that people generally came to him.

“Excuse me,” he said loud enough for them to hear. “I hope I’m not interrupting.”

Looking up at him, the woman frowned in what Mycroft was certain was meant to be a clearly annoyed look. “Well, actually, you are. We’re discussing some important matters, so if you could kindly leave, it’d be much appreciated?”

“And that’s Helen,” Ollie said, gesturing to her with a small roll of his eyes.

Turning to Ollie, she gave him that same disappointed mum look. Looking rather clueless as to what he did to annoyed her, Ollie shrugged it off and went back to whatever it was he was writing, clearly giving Helen the belief that she had managed to have some kind of effect.

Walking over to her, Mycroft held out his hand, smiling at her. “I’m Mycroft Holmes. And you are?”

“Helen Hatley and we’re still busy,” she said as she shook his hand.

And while most in his position would’ve been annoyed, Mycroft was rather used to the fact that his name only seemed to carry weight with those a bit higher up, the exception being Julius, who was always best forgotten.

Swinging his umbrella slightly, he nodded to himself. “Good. That’s how the government should be. Oliver, where’s Malcolm?”

“He and Nicola were having a bit of chat about her walking,” Ollie said with a cringe.

“Probably in there telling her that she moves like a pony. Or foal. Or whatever the hell a baby horse is called,” Ben laughed.

Not that Mycroft could honestly blame him. He had actually been there to see it happening and the entire thing was certainly no better from where he’d stood. How anyone managed to reach such an age without being able to properly walk was, well, remarkable to say the least. The only thing that made it worse was the fact that it was an improvement from when she had completely failed to place the reef down. Sighing softly, Mycroft did his best to store any and all memories of such a day.

Turning to Ben with a smile, eyes briefly focusing on the six grammatical errors on the paper he held, Mycroft said, “A baby horse is called a foal. A pony is a horse that stands under or at the exact height of the withers and has a thicker mane and tail while also showing a thicker bone structure than a horse and a smaller overall size, especially in the head.”

“What the fuck? Is there some kind of pony/foal course I missed?” Ben questioned, obviously annoyed.

“No,’ Mycroft said with a chuckle. “It’s just whenever I invite Malcolm into my quarters, horses and their sizes always come up.”

Sitting up a bit straighter, Helen looked positively lost. “Are you implying that he’s… Or you’re…”

“Right,” Ben said gathering up his things. “You and Malcolm can have your horse talk. If anyone needs me—“

“Which we usually don’t,” Ollie threw in.

“Funny. I’ll be in my office.”

Stepping out of Ben’s way, Mycroft watched him leave before glancing at Nicola’s office. Looking back at Ollie and Helen, he stared at them expectantly while they stayed huddled around working yet again. He was used to being overlooked by those not in the loop, but from the way Ollie was kept glancing at him, he knew that the man knew better. When Helen finally turned her attention back toward him as well, Mycroft smiled.

“So, am I actually expected to wait out here? Because, while I don’t mind, I do have reservations and haven’t been offered a drink.”

“Um…Would you care for a cup of tea?” Helen asked nervously.

“No thank you. Lunch reservations,” he said, stressing that point as he glanced at Nicola’s door.

Taking the hint, Helen nodded. “I’ll just go inform Malcolm that his presence is wanted.”

“I’ll come with,” Mycroft said, gesturing to lead the way.

“Oh… OK.” Knocking on the door, Helen walked into the room, closely followed by Mycroft. “Um…Nicola, there’s Mycroft Holmes here?”

“Oh hell,” Nicola complained. Leaning back in her chair, she seemed rather upset by his presence, sitting slumped in her chair looking so very defeated. “My walking wasn’t so bad that you were called in was it?”

Chuckling, Mycroft shook his head. “No. Everyone gets nervous. Well, most everyone. And when that happens, it’s best to keep calm and carry on.”

“Yeah. Listen to him. He knows about that,” Malcolm said from where he stood by Nicola’s desk. “After all, his brother calmly walked off the roof of a fucking building and didn’t once trip or hesitate.”

Keeping a calm visage to keep Nicola from feeling as though she needed to do something about the comment, Mycroft didn’t even glare at Malcolm. Certainly the temptation was there, but the man had only recently taken to making comments about Sherlock, which was a grand nicety coming from Malcolm, who had insulted a man not five minutes after his own funeral.

Brows furrowed in thought, Helen stared at him, trying to figure out what was going on before perking up as it dawned on her. “Oh! Your brother was that detective. Sherlock!” Controlling her own self joy, she immediately slipped into a look of pity as she said, “Must’ve been quite the pity to find out he was behind all those crimes.”

Swallowing, Mycroft gripped the handle of his umbrella as he turned to her.“Helen, was it?”

“Yes.”

“Sweet girl, though you may be, my brother was a detective and if you ever say otherwise I’ll see to it the only job you ever get after you’re fired from this one involves having intimate relations with the nether regions of various farm animals. Are we understood?”

“I… I’m sorry—“

“Apology accepted,” he said as he turned away from her. Waving her off, he added. “I’ll take that tea now.”

Stunned, Helen looked around like a scared lamb before quietly making her way out of the room, probably quite uncertain about what it was that had just happened. If he was a better man, Mycroft might actually feel bad for her. She already had to work with Malcolm and didn’t really seem to have any idea who it was she was talking to in the first place. But she had made the mistake of insulting Sherlock and that was nothing short of a sore spot for him.

“That was so good I want to drop to my knees right here with Nicola watching and go down on your tiny umbrella,” Malcolm said, looking rather in love.

And if ever there was a sign that he had gone too far, that was it. Turning to Nicola, Mycroft did his best to look appropriately apologetic, even if part of him still reasoned that everything he said was well within his capabilities.

“Terribly sorry for treating your staff in such a way. Do explain to her that it was nothing personal. I would, but I have a lunch date with Malcolm.”

“Like fuck you do,” Malcolm said, love gone as he leaned against the wall. “I’d like to think I’d know about this in some way, possibly from your lazy arse calling ahead of time so I could come up with the perfect withering No just for you.”

“I sent a text. I was otherwise preoccupied with the prime minister.”

“Why the fuck would you text? You likely spend half your phone conversations with your hand down your trousers getting off to the sound of your own fucking voice.”

Going over to Malcolm as the man pulled out his phone and put his glasses on, Mycroft looked over his shoulder as Malcolm skimmed through the messages on his phone. Pointing at it when it came up, Mycroft smirked.

“There. I made reservations at this restaurant Stewart and I were talking about.”

At that Nicola sat up a bit straighter as stared at him.“Stewart. As in…”

“Oh yeah. Mycroft and him are real pals,” Malcolm said, voice dripping in disgust despite the smile on his face. “Even invites him over to dinner every other Friday so they can talk health food and dieting and all that other new age bullshit designed to pray on feeble minded imbeciles like them that think every new fad diet will be the one that works.”

“Oh to be over fifty and giving up on the chances of ever appealing to anyone. I hope in ten years when I’m your age, I won’t be so… down trodden. After all, dieting does wonders. As do certain blue pills from what I’m told,” Mycroft replied calmly.

Turning to look at him, Malcolm had that twisted little look of love in his eyes again. Licking his lips, Mycroft smiled a bit more genuinely than he typically allowed himself to when dealing with the various politicians they both had to deal with.

“Alright. Go and flirt elsewhere.” Waving them away, Nicola looked as though she might be embarrassed or bothered. “I have work.”

“Sorry to have interrupted you,” Mycroft apologized. Grabbing Malcolm’s coat, he handed it to him and nodded at the door. “Come along Malcolm. Maybe if you’re good I’ll let you make the waiter cry.”

“Fucking charmer,” Malcolm muttered.

“Good day, Nicola,” he said as he headed out, closely followed by Malcolm. Nearly running into Helen, who seemed to be rushing back with the cup of tea he asked for, Mycorft nodded at her. “Goodbye Helen.”

Judging by how flustered she seemed and Ollie’s poorly hidden smirk, it was fairly clear to say that she had been informed of just who he was. A good thing, overall, given that he had the feeling that he would be forced to see her again at some point, if the Opposition continued on like they were.

Of course, with Malcolm so close that he continually bumped into Mycroft, it was rather clear that the infamous spin doctor had noticed such a fact too and was getting his own perverse pleasures from the girl’s misery. And the best Mycroft could do in that regard was pray that Malcolm’s joy would be worth missing their reservation for.


End file.
